A
Bullet
to the
Heart
A Weatherford Sisters Mystery
Josephine – book 1
Kathy L Wheeler
A Bullet to the Heart
A Weatherford Sisters Mystery
Book I
Copyright © 2021 by Kathy L Wheeler
All Rights Reserved
https://klwheeler.com
https://kathylwheeler.com
This story is work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination and/or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without express written permission from Kathy L Wheeler.
Cover Art © 2020 by Novak Illustrations
Edited by CJ Obray
Formatted by Kathy L Wheeler
Table of Contents
Copyright
Other Weatherford Mysteries
To the Reader
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Books By
About Kathy
Dear Reader:
I hope you enjoy this book one of the Weatherford Sisters Mysteries. My real sisters and I got together and came up with one crazy scheme after another before finally settling on each doing a book in our mystery series. The fourth book belongs to their cousin, Jackson. For a complete list of all the stories see the Other Weatherford Mystery Books page.
An interesting fun fact: we consulted a “Birth Order” book for traits regarding the order of our own births and applied some of the known traits for sisters born in that order. Josephine, as am I, the oldest of the sisters. As a result, she is a bit bossy and sure of her standing within the leadership of the family… however, what happens when her middle sister, Lydia, steps up and makes a stand? Thank you for reading.
If you are so inclined, please leave a review!
Love….
Kathy L Wheeler
Other Weatherford Mystery Books
A Bullet to the Heart
Kathy L Wheeler
Hanging by a Threat
Terry Andrews
A Fatal Drip of Wisdom
Sanxie Bea Cooper
A Dagger Cuts Deep
Kathy L Wheeler
1
September 15, 1937
Metropolitan Museum of Art
J
osephine Ophelia Weatherford clutched her sack lunch within tensed fingers and stepped outside The Metropolitan Museum of Art, widely known as The MET, and trotted down the stairs, scanning the occupants of the outdoor tables. She spotted him at the one farthest to the north, only he wasn’t alone. Her heart skipped a beat.
The urge to turn and run the other way seized her, but that wasn’t Jo’s way. She straightened her spine and chanted her mantra: I am a modern woman. A woman who faces adversity. A woman who is not afraid. Her walk toward them slowed. Disappointment sliced through her. She hadn’t expected a third person. A warm fall breeze stirred her hair.
She reached the table, and both men stood.
“There you are, baby.” Bobby Kingsley, her newly found father, leaned in and dropped a light kiss on her cheek. “This here’s Julius.”
Surprising herself, she didn’t scrub away his kiss. Jo did not like people touching her. She just wasn’t made that way. But Bobby Kingsley was different. He was her father. The one her mother kept from her. Had lied to her about.
Julius threw out his hand. “Julius Styles, Miss Weatherford. It’s a pleasure.” His smile revealed a deep dimple in his left cheek. His eyes twinkled with humor that reluctantly drew Jo in. “Your father didn’t think you would mind if I joined you for lunch.” He held out a chair, and she cautiously lowered onto it.
Father. It was unsettling to hear someone say the word out loud, reminding her of the monumental task that lay ahead in how she was supposed to tell her sisters she had a different father.
“Julius comes from sturdy stock, honey.”
Jo tapped into her finishing school etiquette before her thoughts could overrun with panic. “Styles. Why does that sound familiar?”
“Styles Shipping.” Bobby’s own smile was engaging.
Sadly, Jo realized her personality came straight from her melancholic mother who tended toward the depressive outlook on life. Her lips tipped in a closed-mouth smile. “Of course, now I remember.” She studied the man from behind her lowered lashes. He was tall. Even in heels, she would stand at least half a foot shorter than him. He seemed to have a cheerful disposition. His wheat-colored hair and the twinkle in his green eyes lent credence to the picture. “What brings you to the city, Mr. Styles?”
“I have business interests to take care of, Miss Weatherford. Please call me Julius.”
“Her name’s Josephine, isn’t it, honey?”
Jo stole a look at her father. He was glancing between her and Mr. Styles, grinning like a Cheshire cat. He appeared…thrilled…with himself. Acting the proud papa. Something inside her softened. It wasn’t often a girl learned that she wasn’t orphaned after all, that her father was not only alive and well but was thrilled to have found her.
Another strike against Eleanor, her mentally incapacitated mother who’d kept the truth of Jo’s parentage to herself for twenty-five years.
That new knowledge brought to mind another little question and churned up a familiar bitterness. Her Uncle Victor—what was his role in all of this? Jo knew one thing for certain about Uncle Victor: if there was truth to any rumor, the man was privy to it. And certainty didn’t mean he was inclined to share what he knew.
Victor had to have known Jo’s father was not Charles Weatherford. Of that, she hadn’t a single doubt.
Wyndel Smith, Jr. strolled into the Cobblestone Café and ordered his customary black coffee, adding an order of pancakes for a change from his standard regime of eggs over easy, bacon, and hash browns.
Melinda plopped his plate down, filled his cup, and was off again. The diner was crowded this morning, and no wonder with the unseasonably warm days of late September. More often than not, this time of the season the island had nights already dipping below freezing. Facing the Long Island Sound left the island vulnerable to the sudden changes in the North Atlantic’s weather patterns from the icy sprays of the ocean to the spells of summer hurricanes and suffocating heat that could steal one’s breath as well as one’s livelihood.
The diner’s glass door crashed open, startling diners
